


Conflagration

by ianixela



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Adultery, Angst, Ben wants to be a big bad dom but he's a SOFT BOI, Dirty Talk, Don't Judge Me, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face Slapping, Light Dom/sub, Rey wants to get manhandled, Reylo - Freeform, Rough Oral Sex, and spoken to like she's a bad little girl and she IS, this one is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23107966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianixela/pseuds/ianixela
Summary: CONFLAGRATION/ˌkänfləˈɡrāSH(ə)n/Noun. A large, destructive fire.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 27
Kudos: 109





	Conflagration

**Author's Note:**

> I'm bad. I'm the worst, I always have to salt the happy stuff with angst because masochism. So yeah everyone hurts in this one. Sorry...
> 
> Warnings for adultery, explicit language, explicit sexual content, a bit of consensual violence, breath-play/choking, many instances of Ben Solo calling Rey a "dirty little girl" and other numerous offenses. Also: ANGST!

Rey notices him on moving day. The very first day in her new home.

A very tall, broad-shouldered, ebony haired man by the main entrance doorway, lazily smoking leaned against the dark brick. Late-autumn wind, winter and the scent of decaying leaves in the air, the breeze lifting strands of his glossy hair, sun catching in his lashes.

He wears a leather jacket and black jeans, looking appropriately rough around the edges, resolutely rebellious and something in his dark eyes when she meets them with hers makes her stomach quiver.

Bottomless, fiery amber and completely unflinching, and she has to look down first, her face heating up.

He holds the door open for her one handed as she shuffles in carrying a box from the car, doesn’t reply when she thanks him, soft voiced and intimidated.

He lets the door go once she’s past it, stubs his cigarette, walking off to the side street and she pauses to look at him disappear around the bend, feeling her heart beating faster than it should.

“Is that the last box, honey?”

Poe’s voice startling her out of her contemplation as he gets out of the elevator.

Their first place together after three years of dating. He’d given her a ring at Christmas the year before and had asked her to move in together. And she’d said yes, because he was her best friend and he made her laugh and here she was, hauling up the last box to the brand new apartment they’d spent months searching for. Poe Dameron was the only family she’d ever want, or need.

Her boyfriend gently takes the box from her hands, easy smiles and a kiss to her nose.

Poe is a sweet man, gentle brown eyes and black curls silvering at the temples, broad shoulders, a little taller than she is but not by much, glasses perched on his nose. He’s a fair bit older than she is, but that never bothered her. He works as a social worker at the nearby high-school, generous and kind hearted and endlessly patient. Chatty, joyful. She loves him.

Rey thinks she does. She thinks she has time to figure it out, that moving together will make her feelings clearer. She hopes so.

“Yeah it's the last one, I’ll go park the car in the lot while you bring it up?”

He smiles again, straight white teeth, another excited kiss but to her lips this time.

“Sure. I can’t wait to start unpacking! Be quick!”

Rey drives their little silver compact car around the bend to the parking lot, just as someone on a roaring, glossy black sports bike exits it. She knows next to nothing about motorcycles but from the sheer size and sleek, aerodynamic shape of it she can tell it's the kind that goes faster than is probably reasonable.

The black helmet has a dark visor but she recognizes the leather jacket.

Her heart starts beating fast again.  _ Too _ fast.

* * *

The dark haired man lives in the apartment next door, number 76.

He wears a lot of black, elegant clothes. He rides a loud bike, smokes cigarettes on the front porch, often, but never indoors. He looks like a softhearted delinquent.

Moody and a little tragic. She wonders how he got that scar across his right eye, bisecting his face. It makes him look like the rebellious boys she fantasized about when she was a teenager. A little dangerous, very mysterious, sexy in a sharp way.

It doesn’t help that he’s absolutely beautiful and the mere sight of him makes her breath hitch. Makes her forget about the man she already shares her life with.

He gets out of the elevator as she gets home from work one night.

She works as a teacher’s assistant at her university while she finishes her arts and sciences master’s degree.

Struggling for her keys in her purse while trying to balance three grocery bags and a pile of assignments to grade.

Walking past her, his booted feet leaving wet footprints in the hallway, long strides to match the legs.

Its mid-winter now, and he’s traded his leather jacket for a deep hooded black parka and a thick black scarf, the tip of his sharp nose pink.

Extricating the keys from his pocket as he gets to his door and she feels like melting through the floor when his dark eyes land on her, a side glance.

She was already flustered, and the attention is certainly  _ not _ helping, hands trembling when she finally gets the keys at the bottom of her bag.

He pauses, half a second of contemplation before coming over to her, nonchalantly taking the grocery bags out of her hands while she stands there completely shocked.

He gives the hand in her purse a pointed look and she remembers to breathe and that she’s supposed to open the door and  _ not _ stare up so rudely at a relative stranger giving her a hand.

It's hard not to stare. Because the silent man is absolutely gorgeous from this close.

The closest he’s ever been.

Pale skin and cheekbones to die for, and his mouth is full and curved and the prettiest pink, and his mussed hair is falling in his lashes, and she has to look so far up to meet his eyes it makes her head spin.

Just taking in all of his beautiful features and furiously enumerating them in her mind makes her dizzy.

She manages to mumble a hushed  _ thanks  _ as she gets the key out and in the keyhole, turning her wrist and her cheeks burning because his silent scrutiny makes her feel ridiculously small.

He hands her the grocery bags again once the door is open, mouth curling up slightly at the corner and she wishes she could stop blushing.

“You’re really pretty when you’re flustered.” he says, voice unexpectedly,  _ shockingly _ , deep and soft, before turning on his heel, leaving her panting for air.

Rey has to sit down on the floor in her darkened entrance hall for a minute to regain her composure.

* * *

She runs into him more often after the door incident, wondering if it's a good thing. Because with each seemingly random meeting she starts getting more curious.

Chance encounters in the elevator and the hallway and the lobby sometimes. Watching him pet the stray cats that hang out by the parking lot, patiently, a surprisingly wide smile that shows a set of small white teeth, and digs a dimple in his cheek plastered on his lips.

She starts thinking about him more than a woman in a relationship should.

Curiosity gets the best of her as she picks up the mail from the downstairs mailbox, looking at the listing beside the cubby.

_ Apt. 76: Ren. K./Solo. B. _

She wonders what the K stands for, and why there are two names there, lost in thought and not noticing the man sidling in beside her to get his own mail.

“Hey…” he murmurs, turning the key to the box and she swallows her breath, wondering why he makes her feel like self-combusting.

There’s something self assured and so effortlessly dominant in his way of being, and it has nothing to do with his size or devastating good looks. It seeps out of him unbidden and it makes her want to drop to her knees.

It's a feeling she didn’t even know she could experience and it's completely overwhelming.

“Hey.” she replies, feeling her face heat up, again, and she studies her own feet not to make a fool of herself.

Notices the paint splatters on his scuffed sneakers.

“You paint?” she asks, suddenly feeling a little reckless and curious.

He nods without looking at her, sorting through the pile of envelopes in his hand.

“I’m an artist. I do music too, in a pinch.” he replies, and she can easily imagine that deep voice curling around song lyrics, those tapered fingers teasing guitar strings.

He turns to her a little bit, and she notices the paint on his hands too, and how soft his grey sweater looks, tensing on his broad shoulders before falling in soft folds. It looks cozy and sleep-warm. She imagines herself resting her cheek against it for half a second and her heart races.

“What about you?” he asks, looking up from the envelopes, eyes so dark.

“I’m a TA right now, finishing arts and sciences master…”

He grins a little, leans against the mail cubby casually.

“What’s your thesis about?”

The question catches her off guard, his interest dizzying and she struggles on her words for a second.

“Um… _ uh.. _ .I’m teaching robots and computers to paint. And I really love symbolism...”

He arches a groomed brow, amused.

“Symbolism in the pre-raphaelite movement, actually.”

He grins wider. Small white teeth neatly lined up.

“I’m a big fan of Waterhouse…” he replies, not knowing that the British painter was one her favourites too, “There’s a retrospective of his work at the fine arts museum.”

“Yeah…I’ve been too busy to go.”

“Tomorrow?”

She looks up to him, surprised.

“What?”

He shoves a hand in his pocket, straightening up.

“Tomorrow. Sunday. Come with me.” he says, not asking.

His tone is firm and so self-assured and he’s definitely not  _ asking _ , he’s  _ demanding, _ and all she wants is to obey. There is that urge to obey that blooms inside her at his words and she wishes she understood why.

He turns on his heel.

“I’ll be down here at ten, don’t be late.”

He shuffles back to the elevator while she struggles to breathe.

“I’m Kylo, by the way.” he calls out, turning towards her a fraction.

She replies with her name and he only smirks in response.

She has sex with Poe that night, slow and easy how he likes it best, his lithe body on top of hers, sweet kisses. She thinks about her neighbour’s dark eyes, his paint stained hands, the prussian blue pooled around his right hand fingernails.

“Choke me…” she whimpers against Poe’s shoulder, so low, ashamed.

Wanting to imagine that it's Kylo’s hands around her throat.

“What?” he groans back, too busy seeking his own pleasure to hear and she doesn’t repeat herself.

Forces a moan out instead.

Because her man is vanilla-sweet, and he’d never want to hurt her even for pleasure, no matter how much she wishes he did.

She doesn’t orgasm.

She hasn’t in a while, she’s gotten good at faking it.

* * *

Rey checks her makeup in the mirrored elevator wall on her way down.

She wears a black dress with a white peter-pan collar, and black tights, her favourite riding boots, her navy pea-coat. Thick cream scarf.

“You’re pretty.” Poe had cooed, kissing her neck as she’d pulled on her jacket, “Where are you off to today?”

“I’m off to Uni to grade some papers.”

The lie is out of her mouth before she can rein it in. It came out worryingly easy and she wonders why she even felt the need to conceal the truth.

Kylo is already waiting for her in the lobby, black jeans, black boots, black parka. Black beanie on his long dark hair.

So much black and he pulls it off so perfectly, skin so pale, lips lush red.

He smiles a little when she walks over to him, probably looking as flustered as she feels.

“Ready?” he asks, and she nods.

They take a quick train ride to the museum, mostly quiet.

Kylo is not chatty by nature, she realizes, but it's not empty silence. It feels strangely meaningful, like breaking it with mindless chatter would be inappropriate.

He stands very close to her on the crowded train, close enough for her to pick up the subtle notes of his cologne, a hint of tobacco that doesn’t feel unpleasant at all, fruity sweet. His arm wrapping around her when the train stops abruptly, keeping her from flying into whoever was behind her, plastered to his chest and she stops thinking about anything coherent.

“You’re alright?” he asks softly, and she nods, but he keeps his arm there, hand flattened against her back until they get off.

The museum is this elegant, looming building with a spacious entrance hall.

He pays for both their entries and guides her to the coat check with a hand between her shoulder blades, and she tries not to blush when he helps her out of her jacket.

It's been a long time since anyone has been truly gallant towards her and she realizes she’s missed it.

He takes off his parka and underneath he’s wearing a cream knit sweater falling perfectly on his tall frame, he keeps his beanie on. She tries to breathe normally when he takes her elbow to guide her to the first room of the exhibit, hardly managing.

He has a demanding way of touching that borders on imperious, and she thrives on it. She amazes herself at how much she wants him to touch her, all thoughts that she is somehow already accounted for pushed endlessly far to the very recesses of her mind.

Poe is an afterthought, and she thinks she should be more concerned but can’t make herself care.

She’s so aware of his hand on her and the proximity of his body that the first room feels like a blur. She’s seeing the paintings without really registering what she’s seeing, colours and shapes and vague recognition but all she can focus on is how his fingers end up delicately wrapped around her upper arm.

He pauses in front of the hazy, water blurred painting of Ophelia, probably Waterhouse’s most famous.

“Do you mind when I touch you?” he asks, point blank.

Her mind hazes at the bold question. She shakes her head, unable to speak just yet and his fingers tighten a fraction.

She can feel the excitement in his touch, like her reply was something he was hoping for.

“No. No I don’t mind…” she replies, breathless and relieved at the opportunity to come clean, “I…I even…”

He leans close, lips nearly brushing her earlobe.

“You want it, don’t you?”

“ _ Yes _ …” she whispers, completely overwhelmed, fighting a pleading sound when he takes her chin in his free hand, coaxing her head up a little and she closes her eyes, feels his breath on her jaw.

Quick and eager, elated.

“I wouldn’t do  _ anything _ that you wouldn’t want, I need you to know that…” he whispers, softly, voice nearly trembling with excitement, before squeezing her jaw harder, just on the border of pain, “You want this so bad…I can feel you quivering every time I lay hands on you. You want to submit to me, don’t you? From the very first day I laid eyes on you I knew…You called out to me with all you had and I’ve tried resisting. I’ve tried resisting  _ so _ hard you can’t even imagine how much. Because you belong to him already…”

Rey has a hard time breathing, the tension between them soaring and she suddenly doesn’t care one second about anything. All she cares about is his hands on her.

“You want me to take you anyway, don’t you?”

His tone has gone from eager to self-assured, inflexible, and she feels so light-headed. Like she could float.

“Yes… _ please _ .” she agrees breathlessly because she hasn’t wanted anything more in her life.

All the things she’s ever wanted her man to do to her come to her mind, those violent desires of being choked and manhandled into submission. It's all within reach and freely offered and she wants to melt.

Breathing is a struggle.

“He doesn’t satisfy you, doesn’t he? Your vanilla boyfriend…I can hear you faking it through the wall when he fucks you. Too soft. He’s too soft with you.” he murmurs and she’s burning up, skin too tight.

“The things I want to do to you…” he almost coos, “I want to hear you beg. I want to see you on your knees…”

He pulls away just as a small group enters the exhibition room, but she can still feel his fingers where they bruised her jawbone.

His hand leaves her upper arm, traces up her shoulder to settle on the back of her neck, his grip firm and unforgiving, making her straighten her spine.

“It's gonna sound cliché but I’m pretty sure this is my favourite painting of his…” he says, casually, as if he hadn’t been whispering a most indecent offer to her ear seconds ago.

“Why is that?” she makes herself ask, completely breathless.

“It's more about the character than the actual painting. Ophelia. Fragile, self-martyred Ophelia…” he leans close again, her pulse soaring, “I guess you’ve noticed how much helplessness gets me off by now…”

She has to focus hard for her steps not to falter when they move on to the next painting, the hand on the back of her neck settling with delicious finality.

* * *

There is no coincidence in their meetings anymore.

She slips her work schedule underneath his door the night of the museum visit, and a safeword, as per his request, murmured in her ear as he accompanied her to her door.

His lips against the shell of her ear, the urgency of his demand accentuated by the fact that her boyfriend was right there, on the other side of that door, waiting for her to get home. She prints the schedule neatly despite the shaking of her hand.

She has to take a deep breath to even write her safeword.  _ Ophelia.  _ She doesn't think she'll ever need it, but the prospect is dizzying.

The next day he’s waiting for her in the lobby, picking up his mail. Falling in step beside her and taking her arm as they wait for the elevator.

He pushes the emergency stop button between the third and fourth floor and the car lurches to a halt. He crowds her against the mirrored wall, slowly, both hands settling heavily on her shoulders, up her neck, and her skin feels too tight, breath burning.

He wraps hot fingers around her throat and her lips part easily when he kisses her.

Their first kiss.

His lips are warm and dry, and careful, mouth skilled and patient, ignoring her whines for more, squeezing harder around her throat.

She feels heat rush between her thighs, embarrassingly hot.

“You’re such a horny girl…” he murmurs, so fondly, free hand moving strands out of her eyes, “You’re wet right now, aren’t you?”

She whines in response and he hisses, biting at the jut of her lip.

“You’re gonna go home right now, make dinner for your boyfriend…When he’s taking a shower, I want you to go lay on your bed and touch yourself…” he murmurs, lips on lips, breath hot and sweet.

“Two fingers nice and deep in your sweet little cunt…curling up.”

He pushes the emergency button again and the car lurches and starts going up. He pushes closer to her, the length of his hard body against hers. She feels so small, smothered, and it's amazing and dizzying, his hand around her throat like a vice grip.

“I want to hear you say my name when you come…” he whispers against her temple before pulling away, just enough for another harsh kiss, leaving her so hungry but they just got to their floor, doors opening with a hushed hiss.

He walks past her to his door, not even a backwards glance, carefully sidestepping her boyfriend unlocking their door with a curt nod.

He’s so much taller and bigger than Poe, the comparison hardly even possible, and she can’t stop her eyes from following Ben’s retreating figure, nearly ignoring how her boyfriend smiles at her.

“You’re alright honey?” he asks, only managing to look at him when she hears Ben’s door shutting.

She still feels his lips on hers. Thinks of his fingers around her neck.

“Yeah I’m alright, just tired…” she explains, absentmindedly.

Poe nods understandingly, pulling her close for a little kiss to the corner of her lips that feels so out of place.

“He’s a quiet fella our neighbour, don’t you think?”

“Kylo.” she supplies, unthinking, her mind racing to backtrack when he gives her a curious look, unlocking their door.

“He introduced himself when I was picking up the mail a few weeks ago…he’s an artist.”

He cocks a brow with a little nod.

“That explains the weirdness I guess…you artist types are always a little strange.” he replies, teasingly, and her laughter has never felt more rehearsed.

While he’s taking a shower at the other end of the apartment she lays on her bed fully dressed, cheeks burning as she pushes two fingers inside, as deep as her small fingers allow.

She touches herself thinking of him, slow thrusts of her fingers and imagining his own fingers in her, curling up where she needs it the most. Thinking of his hand around her throat.

She whines his name over and over again, embarrassingly desperate when heat rushes down her belly, cunt steadily clenching around her digits when the pad of her thumb pushes against her clit.

Her orgasm is shuddery and delicious, moaning his name as loud as she dares.

She wishes she could scream it, the desire burning her tongue, but this is dangerous enough. Too dangerous.

Three little knocks against the wall above her head reminding her why she plays with fire.

He heard. She hopes he’s pleased too.

* * *

“You’re gonna come to my place tomorrow…”

Kylo has her pushed face first against the mirrored elevator wall, a hand fisted in her hair, forcing her back at an uncomfortable angle. His other hand slides in the opening of her jacket, cups her breast through the thin layer of her button-down shirt. He squeezes her breast hard, pushes her back against his chest and she can feel how hard he is against the small of her back. He leans low, bites the curve of her neck.

“You’re gonna come to my place, and I’m gonna have you on your knees worshiping me with your mouth. Like the good little girl that you are.”

She fights a whimpering sound at his words. They sound so much filthier filtering breathily through his soft lips.

“Yes. Yes  _ please _ . I want…” she starts, interrupted by the hand on her breast finding her nipple.

A teasing pinch, warm fingers sliding in the cup of her bra, skin to skin. It makes her tingle all the way down to her toes.

“What do you want baby? Tell me.”

“I want it  _ now _ . I want you now _ …please _ …”

She can feel him smile against the shell of her ear, sees it through the haze of lust in her eyes, reflected in the fogged mirror.

“Your desperation is so delicious…eager, dirty little girl.” he murmurs, and his tone is so affectionate, so pleased, her heart soars.

Pleasing him has become such a thrill.

“Please…” she begs, again, but he hushes her, releasing his grip on her hair and her breast.

Splaying both hands on her chest instead, holding her so close, breath hot in her hair.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll have all day and all night. The  _ whole _ weekend.”

Poe was leaving for the weekend, on a work related trip, information that she had whispered to him excitedly between kisses in the empty parking lot, her back pushed against the brick and his body so hot despite the coolness of budding spring outside.

He turns her around to face him carefully, and his hands straighten her shirt and her jacket, zipping it back up to her neck. He adjusts the disheveled strands of her brown hair with gentle fingers, so at odds with how his usual touches are. But he always does it, careful that she looks presentable after being with him, his tenderness just as delicious as his roughness.

He kisses her softly between the brows just as the elevator lurches to a halt, their floor, doors opening and there’s always that rush of fear that Poe will be on the other side.

That he’ll see, that he’ll catch on, but he never is there, he never notices the way she looks at Ben like he’s holding her life in his hands.

She realizes that as observant as Poe can be with his teenaged charges at work, that he is blissfully oblivious when it comes to her.

She doesn’t know if she should feel relieved or sad about it.

* * *

Kylo’s apartment is surprisingly homey.

She’d expected white walls and odd designer furniture, not that abundance of warm colours and sultry wood. It feels luxurious and alive and lived-in, and the texture of the persian rug on her bare skin when he makes her kneel in his living room is another overwhelming layer of sensation.

A hand in her hair, tugging hard enough for tears to burst in her eyes, spine locking up.

“Undress me.” he demands, softly.

He never has to raise his voice above a murmur for her to obey, his physical cues so much more powerful.

Her hands tremble when she reaches up to the opening of his black trousers, her breath burning up her lungs. Fingers easing in her hair to cup the side of her head instead, his hand so big and warm.

His hips are defined and muscled, his lower belly smooth and flat, skin soft, pale, tasting clean and freshly showered when she presses her mouth to it.

Eyes fluttering shut when she releases his cock from his tight boxers, hot and hard against the side of her neck. She needs a minute to breathe but he’s impatient, tugging her head back again and she feels the burn of a slap on her cheek.

It's just hard enough to flush her cheek red, makes desire pulse in her belly.

“Open your eyes. Look at me.” he demands, tone still soft and even.

His cock is smooth and hard, flushed, the head shimmering with silvery pre-cum and her mouth falls open instinctively when he tugs her closer by the hair.

She wants to taste, she wants it so badly he doesn’t have to tug hard or ask, tongue curling on the underside.

He’s burning hot and soft and he tastes salty and clean and she moans helplessly at his tightening fingers in her hair, his hushed moan when she opens her mouth for him pliantly.

“ _ Oh _ …” is all Kylo says, canting his hips forward, pushing more of himself past her lips and she moans around his length, trying to take more and choking a little around his girth.

The sound he makes when her throat tightens around him, so delicate, at odds with the steady grip on the back of her neck.

Soft Hearted delinquent.

He only hurts her because she wants it, and that is what makes him perfect.

She gets greedy, tries to take more too fast and pulls back, panting, only to get shocked by another slap.

A little harder, cheek stinging.

“Worship me.” he whispers, urging her close again and she opens her mouth wider, throat relaxing, “ _ Touch me. _ ”

He pants softly when her hands trace up his thighs, cupping firm flesh, hard muscle and he pushes forward, holding her head still.

He fucks her mouth steadily and she swallows. She swallows and moans and whines when he pulls back a little too far, gripping his thighs hard. Wanting to keep him close.

“Greedy little  _ bitch _ …” he croons, looking down at his cock disappearing past her lips and she feels deliciously humiliated at her own eagerness.

His eyes are burning hot, holding her pleading gaze, getting heavy-lidded when the tip of her nose starts brushing the trimmed, coarse hair at the base of his cock.

“Are you gonna swallow my cum like a good girl?” he asks, breath hitching and she can feel his cock pulsing on her tongue, throat clenching tight around the shaft.

She has to breathe slowly through her nose not to panic at how deep he is and she whines at his words.

She definitely wants his cum in her mouth.

His hands cup her face, rough, holding tight as he pushes in that fraction deeper that makes her vision haze with white dots.

His orgasm is quiet, all panting breath and shivers, pulling out harshly. Strings of white cum spilling down her chin and her breath burning her lungs. She feels like laughing, so elated and dizzy and feeling deliciously used. She doesn’t expect it when he falls to his knees across from her, flushed and starry eyed and breathtakingly beautiful, thumbing at her slick lips.

“You’re so gorgeous… _ god _ …” he murmurs, fervently, throat hoarse, “Messy eater…” playful scolding, leaning close to lick at her lips, mouthing at her chin.

Licking her clean and that makes her even more light-headed. His kiss hungry when he pushes on her shoulders with both hands, spilling her out on the thick rug.

He pulls back, breathless, shifts between her spread legs and slides her skirt up her thighs, roughly. Pushes her underwear to the side to shove two fingers in.

Two fingers that are so much broader and longer than her own.

“Your cunt is so beautiful....fuck.” he curses underneath his breath and she feels her face burning at the embarrassing gushing, pooling around his fingers when he starts thrusting them in and out.

She keens high and breathless when his free hand wraps around her throat, leaning down with just enough weight above her to limit airflow. Pushing a third finger inside her, rough and fast, curling them just so and she bucks up when they find the spot inside her that she can’t reach with her own fingers.

The spot that makes her scream when touched but all the manages is wheezing moans, desperate panting. That heady pull in her stomach and down her legs, body singing with pleasure.

“You’re gonna come for me, are you Rey?” he whispers, leaning closer to mouth at her nose, lips, hand around her throat merciless.

“Your cunt is so tight…coming from my fingers alone. So needy…” his fingers inside her thrust harder, deeper, pleasure bordering on pain, “You’re so beautiful like this…”

He bites at the jut of her lip, eyes so dark and she falls apart.

Her body sings with pleasure, shimmering with it and it feels like her body can’t even contain this much sensation.

She feels on the verge of blacking out but then he releases her throat, oxygen rushing in and painting her vision with white.

She feels like she’s soaring and she never wants to come down.

The aftermath is hazy and slow and tender, still mostly dressed on the rug and his lips underneath her jaw. Mouthing at her pulse points, and his hand traces down her arm, her thighs tightening around his waist when he tangles his fingers with hers.

She knows she should worry about the speeding of her heart at the tender touch. She thinks she should anyway.

But all she feels is sated bliss.

“I want you again… _god_ , Rey I want all of you.” he whispers.

He’s not really asking for permission, takes what she gives utterly willingly.

He takes her standing up against the bedroom window, face and chest against the cool glass, fogging it with her erratic breath, holding her arms behind her back.

Slides deep inside her in one stroke, finding her already wet and ready, hip bones pressed tight against the curve of her ass.

He’s merciless.

He’s harsh, thrusting hard without giving her any time to adjust and her shoulders screaming at how tight he’s holding her arms back, forcing her spine to arch and she loves him for it.

She adores him for giving her everything she wants.

She can see the path to the main gate from that window, and the street, and the thought that they’re doing this in plain view, the middle of the afternoon, that anyone could see her makes it a thousand times more delicious.

Anyone could see, if they only looked up. See her getting fucked and pleasured by a man who isn’t hers.

It makes her breath hitch.

“He comes home around that time, doesn’t he?” Kylo asks, letting go of her arms, but she keeps them there, “Imagine if he did? Standing down there, completely oblivious…while you’re up here. Just a glance up, it's all it would take.”

She whines, bucking back into his hips, helpless.

“Put your hands on the glass…” he murmurs, “keep them there.”

She splays her hands on the cool surface, mewls when the leverage allows him to spread her thighs a little more, taking her deeper, hand curling around her hip. Sliding down her belly to where they are joined. The soft brush of fingers on her clit making her see stars.

His other hand cups her ribs, wedges between her flesh and the glass to hold her breast, squeezing tight.

She orgasms with him deep inside her, knees buckling and he has to hold her up to finish, cursing against the back of her neck and pressing the length of her body into the glass with his own as he shudders against her.

* * *

They take a bath together in his ancient enamel tub, the type with clawed feet that she’s always dreamed of having.

Kylo owns a lot of pretty vintage things.

And a curious kitten, a little boy named Chewie, gold eyes and shaggy brown fur, sneaking up beside them on the large bed when the racket had died down, to sniff at her face, nosing at her hair.

Letting out a little protest when Kylo picks him up one handed, quieting when he settles his soft, fluffy body between theirs, petting him between the ears.

“I got him in the parking lot two weeks ago, he was hiding underneath my bike…I lured him out with tuna. He was  _ so _ small…” Kylo explains, tirelessly petting the kitten between them, smile curling his lips.

It makes her heart ache.

Chewie curls up on the white bath mat, purring, while they lay together in hot water.

He holds her tight to his chest with one arm slipped underneath her breasts, hand cupping her ribs, the other draped on the edge of the tub, occasionally taking slow, silent pulls of the cigarette consuming itself between his long fingers.

He mouths at her neck softly. Her body feels on fire.

“Do you want to go for a ride?” he asks, sounding strangely hesitant.

She wonders where the boyish tone came from. She steals a drag from the cigarette, holding his hand to her mouth.

“Yeah. I’d love that.”

The spare helmet fits her just right, and he looks really good in leather jackets. But she knew that already.

“Hold on tight.” he murmurs before lowering his visor, the bike’s engine roaring to life.

She’s never been on a bike before, and the adrenaline rush when he speeds up is addictive, holding on to his chest while the city flies by her eyes. Bright colours and neon lights as night-time falls, glittery haze across the clear visor. Feeling the speed in her body, coursing through her and she starts understanding why it's so attractive.

They ride for god knows how long, minutes, hours, it doesn’t matter, because they have all night and she feels sore and perfect and wind ruffled and her heart is leaping in her throat.

He kisses her in the elevator, old habits dying hard.

But the kiss feels, tastes different. It's soft.

There’s a tenderness to it, in the way that he holds her face up to his one handed that makes her heart ache.

In a delicious,  _ dangerous _ way.

He takes her hand in his when they walk to his door, he pushes her in first, reaching around to unzip her jacket, kissing the back of her neck.

He sits her down at the kitchen island with a glass of wine while he prepares dinner, elegant and skilled, no movements wasted.

It hits her how  _ quiet _ Kylo is. He doesn’t waste words in idle chatter. He doesn’t talk lightly and it amazes her how much she appreciates it.

Poe is chatty, wordy, in a way that she enjoys, but that soothing quietness is utterly refreshing.

She wishes she could stop comparing them in her mind.

He makes her taste the sauce for the pasta with a cocked brow, asking without words, and she replies in kind, a simple nod and he smiles, leans over the grey granite to peck her lips before getting back to his task.

Her heart stutters at how fast the intimacy between them settled.

Playing with fire doesn’t even  _ begin _ to define it at this point.

They eat sitting side by side at the island, his hand tracing the length of her spine tirelessly, and she doesn’t feel uncomfortable at his eyes on her while she eats, studying her reactions with his luminous gaze.

“Would you like to see my work?” he asks after she’s cleaned her plate, and the question takes her a bit by surprise.

“You want to show me? I didn’t dare ask…”

He chuckles, squeezing the back of her neck as he gets up, gathers the plates. Puts them down in the sink before grabbing his glass of wine and her hand.

“Come on…” he coaxes, guiding her back through the living room to the one door that hasn’t been opened yet.

He turns on the light and she realizes that’s where all his “messy artist” habits have gone. There’s stuff everywhere, on every flat surface, pencil sketches and pots full of brushes and paint tubes. The scent of linseed oil and turpentine, paint splatters on the floor, but her eyes immediately settle on the large easel at the back, where a half-finished painting rests.

Flowers, water, ethereal shades of blue and teal and melted lavender, stepping in further, fascinated.

“I got pretty inspired by that Waterhouse retrospective we went to in March, the colours…” he murmurs, warm hand on the small of her back guiding her closer.

She’s absorbed by the colours, the details, flabbergasted.

“Kylo…this is…I don’t even know what to say. This is just beautiful…”

He chuckles, the sound a little desperate, pulls her against his side.

“Ben. You can call me Ben. Kylo is...it's me but it isn’t  _ me _ . Kylo allows me to work, but this here…it’s so real.” he holds her tighter, hands circling her ribcage. 

“It's all because of you.” he murmurs in her hair, voice a little tight, as if he’s spilling things that shouldn’t be said at all, but he can’t stop himself, “You make me want to create beautiful things…You make me  _ want _ so much.”

She feels so lost she wonders if she’ll even be able to find her way back to her steady, settled routine with Poe.

Rey wonders if she even wants to find her way back from this dream at all.

* * *

She wakes with his mouth kissing down her belly, early morning light grey and cool, turning his skin to white marble.

Shoulders so broad, pushing underneath her thighs, dark hair tickling her skin. Mouth hot and wet between her legs. His hands splay on her belly as his lips part over her sensitive clit, sucking her flesh tenderly.

She tries to remember the last time she’s been touched like this, for the sole purpose of making her orgasm, and fails.

His hands caress her body relentlessly as he licks, sucks, kisses her cunt with the same devotion he’d given her mouth. Sucks a bruise inside her thigh, a hint of teeth, her back arching.

She’s clawing at the sheets and mewling and her skin feels on fire, too tight, too hot, cursing between her teeth when one his hands settles on her breast, squeezing tight. Teasing the sensitive tip of her nipple until the pleasure is a line of fire that goes right down to the clit he’s licking with focus. Thick lashes fanned on his flushed cheeks.

Ben is so gorgeous in the early morning light, he breaks her heart with his beauty.

He’s patient, slow, takes his time to rouse her, make her plead between breathless moans. She falls apart trembling, shuddering, and he doesn’t wait for her orgasm to abate, kisses his way back up her overwhelmed body. Parts her thighs again with his hips, sucking her nipples to hard buds before mouthing at her throat, fitting himself in as he bites the underside of her chin.

The sudden stretch after her first orgasm makes her entire body pulse, breath soaring, and she knows she can’t take much more than this, her body at its limit because he’s big and he fills every inch of her, and he knows it too, slowing his hips. Guiding both arms over her head in the mess of sheets, fingers tangling with hers, hair falling in his eyes when he leans low to kiss her, lips and tongue and teeth, dominating and yet so sweet. So tender.

He’s all she’s ever wanted, softhearted and loving and harsh when she needs it, reading her like an open book. She’s terrified. She’s ecstatic.

Her heart is a fucking mess.

He orgasms in soft pulses, hips dragging slowly between her thighs, sucking at the pulse point underneath her ear.

He carries her to the bath when the sun starts peeking through the clouds, gilding his skin and hair, turning his eyes molten gold.

A repeat of the night before, hot water, skin to skin, both arms around her chest this time, cigarette consuming itself between her lips.

His mouth on the back of her neck, tracing the slope of her shoulder, and his hand cupping her throat, her heart breaking.

They don’t say anything.

They already know how fucked they both are. No need to voice it.

She wanted to play with fire, but never thought for one second that they would end up both consumed by the flames.

**Author's Note:**

> Oof I'm sorry. I have a tumblr @ianixela feel free to come yell at me.


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